


Fractal

by ShadowSelene (Shadowdianne)



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, What the hell I am doing? good question Dianne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 20:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowdianne/pseuds/ShadowSelene
Summary: Are there any fics where Miranda is just so tired that she simply... falls asleep on Andy when they're traveling somewhere sitting next to each other before they know they like each other because i would read the heck out of thatPrompted by rubikanon





	Fractal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubikanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubikanon/gifts).



> Why I’m doing this to myself. I wonder.
> 
> Not really but this one needs a brief author’s note: Hi, hello, welcome to my humble abode. I’ve never written for this pairing but, as some friends I’ve made along the way has said to me… pushing you into the pool is nice.
> 
> I’m still considering that sentence but, other than that… apologies for any oocness, or any blatant disregard of some fanon take on the characters. I’ll try my best.
> 
> Or something.

 

Andy sighed as she reached the end of the magazine she had been reading, jiggling on her seat as she closed it and put it down onto her lap. It wasn’t boredom what she felt but a certain restlessness, the kind of one she knew Miranda would berate her for.

Miranda. It had been a few minutes since she had heard the woman make a comment about the magazine she herself was reading; the last number in one of those flimsy things the older woman liked to call “pitiful” to anyone who wanted her opinion on the less known fashion zines.

She truly didn’t have the time to consider how or why the silence because, just as she was turning into the quite the comfortable seat of the jet, a sudden weight touched her shoulder, the kind of one that made her go completely still. Lips moving but not sound coming out of them, she needed a few moments before she was fully able to glance at her side, at where, away from the world and blind to it, the always perfect-looking older woman had let the magazine fall to her lap, eyes closed and an-almost slight snore rising from her.

“Miranda?” Andy whispered, careful, so so careful, as she tilted her head, worried that any movement, no matter how minute it was, would wake the other. That, however, didn’t happen; the whisper going unnoticed as she licked her lips, nervous.

It wasn’t that the closeness made her weary, she told herself; the skin on her cheek and chin tickling as she moved her head away as far as she was able, the older woman’s hair grazing her. But, she admitted while placing one hand on her lap, clasping the fabric of the blouse she wore, it was unusual. In every sense of the word.

Both Miranda and she had had a rocky beginning -or second beginning, truly- after they had bumped against each other: their story in Paris written all over Andy’s eyes the moment she had glanced at where Miranda had made her entrance in the gala she, for a reason she hadn’t still entirely discerned why, had been invited to. There had been icicles around the older woman’s features, her whole demeanor aloof and closed off. Andy had considered to turn and run away; an old sense of dread manifesting itself on the pit of her stomach. The kind of one she had learnt to permanently feel back during her time at Runaway.

She hadn’t run at the end. Nor had Miranda for that matter and, despite the obvious consideration on pretending she hadn’t seen her that had flashed through the older woman’s eyes, Miranda had finally approached her with a stern look and a barely-there acknowledgment only to comment on her, on how she was. It was a strange question, one that was so unlikley vague, vague enough for Andy to feel frozen under the obvious scrutiny, but she hadn’t left the magazine without learning a few things and so, shoulders locked, she had answered to the best of her abilities, telling Miranda about her, about her new job, about how she felt fulfilled there.

The older woman had smiled at that, too curt and too sharp and Andy had stopped talking with the thought of how, as all those years prior, Miranda seemed to have already decided that her answer, despite being truthful, despite being hers, wasn’t good enough. She had bitten the tip of her tongue, waiting.

She hadn’t expected Miranda’s offer to a dinner, still one made with features schooled in that haughty look of hers that had made Andy curious, interested, a few years ago. She had said yes, the words tumbling down her mouth, before she had been fully aware of them.

They hadn’t truly spoken all that much during that dinner but that had set a strange set of foundations. The ones that meant a strange and apparent shaky trust between each other. A certain eagerness from the white-haired woman to share her thoughts as demanding as ever but with a softer edge, as if admitting that, after all, at the end, Andy had been the one who had really gotten away.

Nothing of that made any sense for the younger woman but she never said no to those moments. It wasn’t, she had considered, like she was still Miranda’s assistant. Perhaps, only perhaps, they could form… a friendship. As bizarre as that word linked to the formidable woman was.

How she had ended up saying yes to this trip, after Miranda had mentioned it, was something she still didn’t have the slightest clue. Although, a voice inside her head murmured while she glanced down at her shoulder, were Miranda still rested against, she wasn’t exactly ready to delve into that.

Was she?

Miranda looked… soft. The adjective felt just as strange as she the orange hued rays that managed to seep through the plane’s windows bounce of the other woman’s profile. But it also rang true in the sense that, devoid of any of that steel the older woman liked to display, there was this humanity Andy had been able to see during brief periods of time during her time working for her. Those moments that had, ultimately, made her consider the woman, the infamous devil, human.

And human she was. Human in the way her eyelids fluttered, eyes moving incessantly beneath them. Human in the way her breathing was soft, her mouth parted, her muscles lax. Human in the way that made Andy bite her bottom lip yet again as she eyed her. Years hadn’t seemed to truly pass for the older woman. Not that there had been that many since they had last seen each other but she had found herself thinking that the first time they had crossed looks on that gala and the thought assaulted her again as her hand, the one who hadn’t been worrying with her blouse, the one that wasn’t connected to the arm and shoulder currently kidnapped by the tender warmth of Miranda’s body heat, rose, ever so slightly.

“Miranda?” She tried again as she caressed the other woman’s shoulder, the one facing away from her. Fingers curling, she licked her lips as nothing but a quiet hum reverberated through the other woman’s chest, precious in a way Andy wasn’t entirely able to put into words.

Throat closing, she clenched the muscles on her abdomen, a prickle descending on her ears, running past her shoulders, lighting her skin, the inner side of her wrist, only to stop at her hands. Pulse on her throat, she found herself lowering her tone even more to a whisper that felt far too intimate.

“Mir…” She didn’t get to finish the sentence, the plane encountering a turbulence that broke the cocoon that had somewhat descended upon them both. Eyes opening in panic, body moving away, Miranda glanced around her, tendrils of sleep still clinging and clouding to her eyes. Those, however, were as short lived as the softness Andy had spied on the other woman’s features, color melting the sudden stiffness into pink that evaporated just as quickly, leaving behind a silence that stretched between them as Andy lowered her arm, self-conscious.

The white-haired woman cleared her throat, never truly speaking, and turned to watch the beams of light that drizzled the world around them in that same golden-hue that Andy had been unable to look away from. Her posture was strange, different, but the younger woman couldn’t help but notice that, beyond it, Miranda’s neck was tense, poised, calculatedly perfect.

Andy didn’t say a thing, her back tensing in answer as the taut sensation inside her started to dissipate, slowly, far too slowly for her liking. The question, the one she had been asking herself, glowed on her mind.

_“Why?”_

She didn’t dare to answer to herself.


End file.
